


I Hold You Here

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Kittens, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel makes an unusual friend. Pure crack and angsty fluff ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hold You Here

No one was sure where the creature had come from. In the wake of humans, though, animals seemed to have multiplied and every street corner had a collection of strays.

This one, against all odds, had found itself in the ancient, echoing halls of the capital.

Rachel wasn’t sure how it had avoided the heavy boots that stomped down the wooden floors, but it darted nimbly between the feet of the private bringing her lunch and found its way under her bed.

The private left it there, ignoring it as he ignored Rachel’s attempts to make eye contact.

It finally crept out mid-afternoon, as Rachel sat sketching at the heavy table.

It mewed at her from the middle of the rug.

Her guest was a half-grown calico kitten, thin and scraggly and coated in a thick layer of dirt that turned vibrant spots into a dull, grey wash.  

She crouched down across from it, waiting for it to cautiously travel over to her outstretched hand. It was probably flea-infested and unsanitary, but as she lightly brushed dirt off its fur, she realized she didn’t care.

He was a companion.

She asked for water and soap with dinner and was surprised when Monroe brought it himself. He set the basin on the table and asked why.

She took a moment and then nodded towards the small creature lying on a towel on the bed and attempting to clean itself. Bass chuckled slightly, even when she scowled at him. Still, he left her alone to entertain herself however she pleased.

It took a while to get him clean and he screamed and cried, terrified of the water. Rachel found herself breaking into sobs before long as he struggled desperately against her efforts to scrub him. She was only trying to help. He dug his claws into her and she let him squirm away to trail water across the table.

Rachel tried again, capturing him in a towel and drying him and holding him close until her heart could no longer bear the fact that she was trapping him. He leapt away and off the bed, darting under the couch this time.

She didn’t know what a growing kitten would eat, but she tore the meat she’d saved from dinner into the smallest pieces she could and left them onto of a folded napkin near his hiding place.

Deciding that he wasn’t coming out, she changed into an old t-shirt—she was still at the stage where she refused out of sheer stubbornness and pride the silk slips and robes her captors offered her. She crawled into bed, staying awake and upright to watch the unmoving shadow by the couch leg for a long time.

In the morning, he was gone.

She panicked, realizing the stupidity of her getting attached to something so fragile, so living while the men on the other side of the door were able crush anything she cared about with one gesture.

Still, she searched the room thoroughly. The meat was untouched and she decided that after her cruelty last night he had probably found a way out. 

If she didn’t have the guts to stay with her own children, what good was she to a helpless animal anyway?

Miles brought him back to her with breakfast.

It was disquieting, the general with stern features and slicked back hair returning the fuzzy, delicate creature. He placed him gently in her hands and reminded her that it was her responsibility.

She tried to ask what had happened to him, but Miles refused to make eye contact, turning around and gesturing for the food to be brought in. Although he kept silent, Miles stayed to watch her eat.

Rachel couldn’t tell if he was trying to be threatening or not. She did what wanted anyway.

She let the kitten wander the table and cleared off a smaller plate that had only held a piece of bread, filling it with a little milk from her own glass. Finally, he settled down next to her, licking up the white liquid greedily as she picked at her eggs and tea.

When he finished, he nudged at her hand, clearly irritated that she wasn’t petting him. As she stroked him, the first hint of a smile in a long time teased at Rachel’s lips.

“Have you named it?”

Miles’ voice startled her and she felt her hand move involuntarily. The cat, however, seemed less skittish than the night before and simply pushed back against her.

“I don’t think I should get attached,” she reasoned quietly.

“Rachel...” Miles sighed, “I know you think we’re monsters. But we’re not going to hurt your kitten.”

“My kitten?”

“Does it seem to like anyone else in this place?”

Rachel shifted in chair, considering his words.

“I like Tennyson.”

“Tennyson?” Miles was confused. “Whatever, it’s your—”

“Lord Alfred Tennyson. He was a poet.” Her response bit the air a little too bitterly.

“I know who Tennyson was.” He rolled his eyes.

 “If you’re just going to be rude, you can leave.”

She stood up hastily and withdrew her hands from the animal, moving to the couch and keeping Miles out of sight. 

Tennyson followed her, his soft paws and long nails sounding small clicks against hardwood. When he reached the couch, he leapt up with difficulty, found a small nook against her thigh and snuggled in.

Miles went to his feet slowly, wandering over to Rachel.

“Rachel?”

His only response was the soft purring of her new friend.

“Rachel, why Tennyson?” he asked her with genuine concern and curiosity.

“Do you ever stop and think Miles?” Her eyes darted to the worn shelves holding tomes Miles had always thought were just for show. “Unless you’re too busy killing people, you could try picking up a book.”

Her graceful fingers played with the spotted fur on the content creature in her lap.

“Lord knows I’ve had the time,” she finished.

Miles took a sharp breath in.

“That’s time that should be spent helping us.”

He left after that and Rachel realized that she had been petting her new companion a bit too viciously. She loosened her grip and smiled slightly as she watched him.

“Looks like I’ve become a cat lady with her books and tea after all.”

The joke was meant to make her feel better, but all it made her feel was the lonely, tight void in her chest.

All she could do was deal and feel thankful that to help fill that void she had a fluffy, small friend.

Tennyson grew each year as she did. Even before Miles turned a kind hand towards her, he was there, soft and warm and forgiving through the nightmares and after torturous weeks. He was protective, or as protective as a cat could be, and he only let Rachel touch him, meeting wandering hands from strangers with a hiss or scratch.

When she gave in briefly and helped Miles and Monroe design a weapon, Tennyson helped her work, batting loose bolts across the table and crumpling sheets of sketches. It wasn’t unusual for her to fall asleep surrounded by tools and rough designs, only to be woken by a gentle paw or wet nose against her cheek.

It would mean something if she wasn’t already a captive, the fact that Miles kept his promise. Tennyson was her only friend, her only family in the dark days she spent with the Militia; sometimes he was her only link to sanity. But Miles never touched him, even when the worse came for Rachel.

Monroe tried once, but the feline fought back, as did Rachel as if he’d laid a hand on her children and years later the thought would flicker across her mind that maybe that was how he knew Danny would be so effective.

The tiny body that shared the bed with her for several years didn’t care that she had played with fire and murdered most of mankind, or that she had left the children she sold humanity for, or that she was slowly drifting towards complete and utter apathy towards any of these facts; it offered its warmth and love unconditionally.

Sometimes, on the coldest nights, that was all the woman needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> This came from the sentiment that Rachel needs a hug…you know what’s better than a hug? A kitten. Crack because what Miles and Monroe let her keep a cat what is logic.


End file.
